Month: October 2008

Scorcese

Writer guy

“But for those of us who lived and died in them furious days, it was like everything we knew, was mildly swept away. And no matter what they did to build this city up again, for the rest of time, would be like no one ever knew we were here .”   – Amsterdam Vallon, Gangs of New York

Like a lot of people, I have a strong affection for Martin Scorcese’s work. Taxi Driver, Raging Bull, The Departed and Gangs of New York are some of the greatest films in cinematic history. So I was curious to read about Scorcese’s battles with anxiety, addiction, and a utter lack of confidence with women. Funny to think how a person can look so practiced on the outside, yet contain such a fiery a maelstrom beneath the surface.

A good article on the master.

Gonna take a lot of beer

Writer guy

During a training exercise today, my Krav instructor and I played around with a new club disarm move that nearly sent a two foot stick through my throat. Surprisingly, my first response: “Am I still breathing?”

His answer was, I think, affirmative, but at that point the adrenaline was running my body and large sections of my brain. So he might have said something more like, “Are you OK?”

Basically, it was my turn to swing a fighting stick at his head, holding it like a bat, with a two hand grip. Matching my velocity, he trapped my hands and then locked my wrist while stepping around me. Add a little nudge of the shoulder, it could have sent me downwards in an embarrassing heap, along the same trajectory as the motion of the bat.

As I crumpled, the wrist lock softened my grip on the stick. While the instructor could have stripped the “bat” then–we had done so a dozen times before–he missed the weapon grab.

So the cylinder went tumbling, answerable only to the whims of gravity. By some quirk of physics, one tip of the fighting stick found the ground at the same time as my body–most of it still in freefall–found the opposite end. My momentum drove the stick at a steep angle into the soil. Since the dense wood refused to bend, it slid across my chest as I rolled off in the opposite direction.

The net result: a nifty scrape and bruise a foot long and an inch wide, three inches below my collarbone and about five beneath my throat.

Shazam. Near impalement. And just before Halloween, too.

Elected

Writer guy

Random thought: Perhaps there might be something wrong with a process where people are more relieved at its conclusion rather than the actual outcome.

A friend recently said, “I can’t wait for the elections to be over, because I’m sick of the fucking television and radio ads.” I may disagree with their diction, but their sentiment resonates with a lot of people lately. After months of relentless advertisements, many just want them to stop. It’s as if the ordeal is a burden, and there’s a lot better things people could do with their time, so please let voting day come so Gossip Girl runs without interruption.

Which may not–or may be–exactly the reaction the politicos crave.

NOTE: The above entry is political as this blog gets.

Sorta Back

Writer guy

Mom said it best when someone asked about what was going on with me lately: “Oh, he’s trying monogamy again.”

In spite of my every effort to the contrary, I have a girlfriend. Boy, does that sound gay. By the term girlfriend, I imply a female who wants to see me in the daylight. And not because it means a free hot breakfast. My omelets are legend, after all. While this situation was pretty much the last thing I planned for heading into 2009, because really, slutting it up has served me so well, I welcome the development.

She’s a writer–a really good one, too–and a professor.

Yeah, did I mention she’s drool-worthy?

On other fronts, I’m writing seriously again. A lot of stuff has been bottling up since mid-summer, and I’m letting loose on the page with great force.

As for the oft-mentioned marketing effort, I met with the graphic artist this weekend and shot some pictures in the woods; she already has rendered an awesome graphic in which she will incorporate a new image from the photo shoot into the existing design. Depending on the amount of photoshopping and final lighting, some may recognize the person depicted in the scene. Can’t say too much more about that without the graphic in hand.

But speaking of the marketing stuff, there’s actually four separate but complementary components to the plan. Of the four pieces, I have direct control over only one. Learning how to deal with so many outside voices has proved a major challenge. I’m used to being able to do whatever I want at the keyboard, with no compromises until after there’s a good draft. First I get a draft hammered out to my liking, then I open the office door and invite feedback. But getting The Last Track on the right desk means getting it off of mine, and working with other people. So I’m learning how to play nice with others.

While a lot of it is in flux right now, and I’d rather keep everything under wraps pending the final package reaching completion, I can mention there is a visual element to this strategy; that includes a short depiction of some hand-to-hand combat.

I can also mention I damn near took a knife across the stomach while filming the segment.

As the sun dipped behind the trees, the sight of razor sharp steel slicing towards my torso in the hands of someone who could gut me twenty-five ways to Sunday, yeah well, that woke me up.

Uh-huh.